


Ennui

by Glassdarkly



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Female Protagonist, Historical, M/M, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-13
Updated: 2007-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immortality can drag sometimes. Darla is always looking for new ways to re-ignite the passion in her relationship with Angelus. Sometimes, though, other passions get in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ennui

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on Livejournal in May 2007. Very slightly revised 25 March 2013

They grew bored with each other sometimes.

It was only to be expected. Eternity was a long time and even the most delicious and sinful of pleasures could pall if one indulged in them too much.

When that happened – when she felt it in herself or sensed it in him – she was always careful to find something new, something fresh and exciting, to dispel the sense of ennui and re-invigorate their mutual passion.

It had always worked very well – and half the fun of it was the planning beforehand.

For herself, it was easy enough. Her tastes were refined but simple, and soon satisfied – a foolish young minor aristocrat here, a greedy old robber baron there. She'd take their gifts – clothes, jewellery, invitations to balls and parties – and she'd take their bodies, if she cared to, and eventually their lives.

Then she'd return to him – and more than likely he'd be fuming by that time – and they'd spend an exquisite few days together, like a second honeymoon, while he taught her what he always seemed to think would be her last lesson about whoring herself out to others.

Of course, it was only the last lesson until the next one.

His tastes, however, were more complex. It was the wild Irishman in him, she believed – his desires as convoluted and intricate as the whorls on a Celtic brooch. He needed a great deal more than simple lust to keep him occupied and bring him back to her refreshed, though lust was well enough of course, in its place.

No, like all men he needed a project – hence Drusilla. _That_ one hadn't quite worked out as she'd expected. Always before, a project had been over when it was over - the last cries of anguish wrung from raw throats, the last drop of blood drunk. But with Dru it had been different and in retrospect, she should have borne in mind Angelus's obsession with nuns.

She should have realised the girl would be trouble the moment she saw that pale, startled face looking back at them over one shoulder; dark ringlets cascading from under her bonnet, big blue eyes full of terror, that knew them without knowing them.

And he, turning to her, saying, "Did you find me a saint?"

Had she known then that he would slip his leash for a whole year before returning to her side, she might have steered him in another less complicated direction, but it was too late for such regrets now. Drusilla was a fact of life these days- an amusement and an occasional burden, though less so lately. 

At times, there were even distinct advantages to the girl's presence along with the irritations.

The individual pearls of her necklace slipped through her fingers one by one as she looked up at him under her lashes. He was pacing backwards and forwards between the door and the fireplace, the restlessness - the boredom - pouring off him in waves.

She sighed and stifled a dainty yawn. How to proceed was the problem.

At that moment, there was a pounding of fists on the front door and the sound of a servant's footsteps hastening to open it. A sudden gust of wind through the gap under the parlour door made the fire blaze up wildly in the hearth. She shivered and drew her shawl close about her.

The boy was back – and not a moment too soon. Outside, the dawn chorus was in full voice and she could hear the clip-clop of hooves on cobbles as a delivery cart rolled by. When she got up and peered through the thick velvet curtains, the gas lamps in the street had flickered out. The sky was gun-metal grey, and it was raining.

"Bloody young fool," Angelus muttered, half under his breath and with an odd, thick quality in his voice that she'd heard before and that made her glance at him sharply. "Someone should teach him a lesson."

And all at once, she had it. It would be easy, especially since it seemed he was already inclining in that direction. She supposed that it was bound to happen eventually, and best to get it over with.

Angelus was already heading towards the door when she raised her voice and called, "William, is that you? Come into the parlour a moment, would you? I want to talk to you."

Angelus threw her a startled look over his shoulder and she set her face into an expression of cool indifference, which – if she knew him at all – should arouse his suspicions nicely.

He had to take a step back as the parlour door flew open so hard the brass handle hit the wall. There was an audible crack of plaster. William stood in the doorway frowning, surrounded by a thick miasma of tobacco and alcohol. But he wasn't drunk. Instead, his eyes were bright and scared, like a bird's that sees the approaching cat and doesn't quite know how to avoid it.

"What is it?" he said, and then, reluctantly, "Madam."

She sat down in her armchair, settling her skirts, which a bustle didn't make easy, and fingering the pearls again. The long rope of silky beads slipped and slid its way into the velvety cleft between her breasts. William's eyes followed it and she saw him swallow hard, while Angelus's gaze went from one to the other of them, the fiery black of burning coals.

"Dear boy." She injected just the right note of motherly concern into her voice, along with a certain sultry hint. "It's nearly daylight. We were worried about you – and look at you, you're soaking."

William blinked suspicious blue eyes and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. "Yeah, well," he muttered. "S'raining."

She sighed inwardly. It was almost impossible to believe young William had been born and raised a gentleman. He was a mess as usual, dressed like a street urchin, which, with his boy's height and slender build, he much resembled. His face though – he had a pretty face, and all the prettier now it had grown so lean, the human softness fined away to reveal the predator within.

She leaned back in her chair, the better to display her milky bosom.

"Come here," she said to him, "Kneel in front of me," and, at his startled look, "Let me dry you."

William cast a covert glance at Angelus, who had crossed back to the fireplace and now stood with his elbow on the mantle, glowering. It seemed to be the glower that decided him because he grinned suddenly and advanced into the room.

"Yeah, all right then."

A moment later, he was at her feet, his scuffed boots leaving muddy footprints on the silk rug, and she was wiping the rainwater from his face with her lace handkerchief.

"You must be more careful next time," she admonished him. "We should hate to lose you."

She let Angelus see her stroke a gentle finger down the youngster's cheek. William's skin was soft over the lean muscle, damp to the touch but very far from unpleasant. She leaned down so that his face was almost buried in her cleavage and pressed her lips to his forehead. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, she might after all.....

But Angelus forestalled her.

"Yes," he said, heavily. "We were very worried. Drusilla was beside herself."

"Dru? She's upset? Where is she?" And at once William had forgotten her entirely in spite of the enticements on offer. He pulled himself free of her grip and leapt to his feet, making towards the door again.

She frowned a little frown – barely enough to crease her forehead – while it was Angelus's turn to smile and look smug.

"I'll go with you," Angelus said, and he gave her a long look and followed the youngster from the room. Of course, they left the door open.

She waited a moment, listening to the pounding of feet up the stairs, considering this and that and the likelihood of more muddy boot prints on the stair carpet. Then she got up and drifted after them, taking each step very carefully so they wouldn't hear her coming.

"Don't need your company, thanks all the same, mate." William sounded irritated then angry. "Get your bloody great paws _off_ me."

There was a short scuffle and she paused, listening, careful not to breathe. They wouldn't smell her, not surrounded as they were with the unmistakeable coppery stink of aroused male vampire.

"No need to act the shy virgin with me, young William." There was a mocking note in Angelus's voice. "We both know you're gagging for it."

"I'm bloody well _not_ –" the boy began but then his words were abruptly stifled and all that could be heard was an indignant muffled squeak.

She risked another step, in time to see Angelus bundling William into one of the spare bedrooms, mouth locked tight on the younger man's and with William's wrists gathered together in one enormous fist. William struggled and bucked but Angelus restrained him easily.

His strength both thrilled and scared her – a pleasant frisson that ran the length of her backbone as she remembered what it felt like to be held down by him.

Of course, that feeling was no good if his heart wasn't in it, and right now it wasn't. Right now, he had other prey and altogether different pleasures in mind, so it appeared - and what's more, it obviously wasn't the first time.

Well, she decided, after a moment's wry contemplation, that would teach her not to dally so long at the Master's court in future - and in the meantime, perhaps it was all to the good.

She stole along the empty landing, listening to the muffled thumps and crashes that came from the spare bedroom. Angelus was making no effort to be quiet so evidently he wanted her to hear this - to know she'd lost this particular contest. Pausing in the doorway, she cocked her head, drinking in the intoxicating scents, hearing the sound of worn material tearing, the boy's voice, much quieter, almost pleading. "Don't, Angelus – please!"

The gaslight on the landing threw their shadows into stark relief against the bare white wall behind them. Angelus had the boy bent over, trousers round his ankles, hands palm-flat to the wall, head hanging and narrow flanks upraised. William's shadow shook with his trembling but he didn't try to escape. Instead he held still, waiting, while Angelus's hand smoothed down the curve of his back, possessive and strangely tender. She could smell the youngster's half-shamed arousal.

Suddenly William made a long, low keening sound, breath a pained whine between his teeth, and then the shadow of his head began to jiggle up and down as rhythmic strokes thrust him forward.

"Hurts!" he whimpered." Bloody hurts, you bastard."

Angelus laughed, and she saw the shadow of his arm reach down and under the youngster's body. "Gets better though, doesn't it, William." There was a strangled gasp and then Angelus snarled, "That'll teach you to make eyes at my woman."

" _She_ bloody started it, not me!" William protested, but then there was the sullen crack of hand on flesh and he yelped indignantly.

"Best I teach you how to ignore the temptation then, isn't it?" Angelus laughed again. His shadow bent down low over the boy's back, gripping William's hips hard, pistoning into him, while William's head continued to jiggle up and down, his body limp as a doll in Angelus's pitiless grip.

She waited until she heard the youngster let out a small sigh of defeat between his teeth – until she saw him begin to angle himself to meet Angelus's thrusts – until she heard a quiet, "Good boy. That's better. You see, some lessons are worth learning. "  
As she made her way along the landing to Drusilla's bedroom, she was smiling to herself with satisfaction. 

Perhaps she'd found that simple uncomplicated thing that Angelus needed after all – recreation, rather than a project. As for William – well, her appetite was thoroughly whetted now after seeing how prettily he took it. She'd take him to her bed some time soon, and knowing Angelus and seeing what she'd just seen, the consequences would be delicious.

Drusilla was still awake, sitting on the floor in front of the cold fireplace, surrounded by her dolls. She was in her white nightgown, all silk and lace, though the torn hem was rucked up far enough to show her pale slender thighs.

"Miss Edith's been a bad girl," she sing-songed, just as the door opened. "She made Daddy think he was bored with her, when really _she_ was bored with _him_."

She peered through the curtains again, out into the watery daylight. It was still very satisfactorily rainy - a perfect day for vampires.

"Drusilla –"she addressed the girl, who turned to look at her with those pale, eerily empty eyes.

"Yes, Grandmama?" Drusilla answered, and then, at what must have been the expression on her face, Drusilla's own face changed, losing that bizarre childlike innocence and becoming old and knowing and wicked. 

She leaned forward, the neck of her gown dipping low to give a glimpse of delicious velvety depths. "Yes, Darla?"

She held out her hand to her. Already, her ennui was lifting. After all, there were some needs only another woman could satisfy and she meant to indulge every one of them.

"Dru dear." She smiled sweetly. "Would you like to go shopping?"


End file.
